


if history speaks

by thisisthefamilybusiness



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Joshua Graham stays in the Legion, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Caesar's Legion, Hate Speech, Homophobia, Honest Hearts DLC, M/M, Malpais Legate Joshua Graham, Master/Slave, Mormonism, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Slavery, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Weirdly Sensual Reading of the Book of Mormon, but not necessarily in a literal sexual way?, it's the Legion it's not exactly a happy time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 04:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthefamilybusiness/pseuds/thisisthefamilybusiness
Summary: “What did you study in New Canaan? Language? Medicine? Religion?” Was the Legate from New Canaan? Daniel had only heard whispers of a missionary who betrayed their cause, some shameful secret that nobody in the entire city was willing to speak about. Could this be him now, standing under the flag of Caesar?“Medicine, sir. I was to be a doctor.”“Since you are a man of distinction, Daniel, I will make you an offer,” The Legate says slowly. A smirk unfolds across his face. “I am sure you know what will happen here. Under ordinary circumstances, you would be executed, along with any of these men who drew a weapon against Caesar. But I have use for you, Daniel of New Canaan. I find myself in need of a personal medic. In exchange for your services, you will be treated well—”“I would be a slave,” Daniel cuts in.(In which the Malpais Legate takes Zion for Caesar long before the Legion ever reached Hoover Dam, and Daniel is only another casualty of the war.)





	if history speaks

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Sufjan Stevens' "John My Beloved" because I'm a real sad gay
> 
> Dedicated to Mr. New Vegas's Fanclub on Discord

The Legion comes for them in the summer, at the height of the heat of the day.

It was only a matter of time, truly. Zion was rich in resources and her people were strong  and clever. Daniel had helped them evade the trail he could see Caesar setting across the Mojave for as long as he could, but he is not a man of great military strategy and it was only a matter of time before he miscalculated.

At least, Daniel thinks as he stares at the flying red flags approaching from the distance, he had sent most of the women and children ahead to their next camp, towards Vegas and the promise of people capable of resisting the Legion.

He has heard stories of the Legion’s cruelties, seen the burnt-out remnants of villages and tribal camps that they left in their wakes. Daniel has seen, too, the Legion slaves at markets, the same beaten-down look written on all their expressions, girls with pregnant bellies forced to walk dozens of miles carrying heavy baskets to the marketplace or old women tasked with seemingly impossible chores.

He will not let that fate befall the Sorrows. 

*

When the Legion finally enters the Sorrows’ encampment, they do not do it in a sow of brutality, with war drums or weapons drawn. Their flag is known in all the wastes, and everyone knows what it means.

Their squad leader is the first to enter the camp, flanked by two flag-bearers on either side. Unlike his soldiers, he does not wear the standard legionary armor—he wears a black SWAT plate carrier over his red tunic and the leather lower armor, a riot gear helmet that has a bull painted over the NCR Ranger insignia tucked under his arm. 

The Malpais Legate himself, Caesar’s second-in-command. Zion must mean a lot to Caesar if he’s sending his prized Legate to do his dirty work, Daniel thinks as he tightens his grip on his gun. 

“Will you fight, or will you accept—” one of the flag-bearers begins, but the Malpais Legate waves a hand in clear dismissal. 

“Who are you?” The Legate points directly at Daniel, still clad in his garments from New Canaan. The man’s voice is rough, and it forces a cold chill down Daniel’s spine. 

“Daniel.” He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t let his voice waver. He can’t afford to. 

“Daniel,” the Legate repeats, folding his arms over his chest. “You aren’t one of these tribals. So why are you here?” 

“I’m a missionary, sir,” Daniel says quickly. The  _ sir _ is added as almost an afterthought. Perhaps he could negotiate? If he could delay them long enough the last of the families could escape, perhaps, since the Legion hadn’t surrounded their encampment, merely flanked it on one side—

“What did you study in New Canaan? Language? Medicine? Religion?” Was the Legate from New Canaan? Daniel had only heard whispers of a missionary who betrayed their cause, some shameful secret that nobody in the entire city was willing to speak about. Could this be him now, standing under the flag of Caesar?

“Medicine, sir. I was to be a doctor.” 

“Since you are a man of distinction, Daniel, I will make you an offer,” The Legate says slowly. A smirk unfolds across his face. “I am sure you know what will happen here. Under ordinary circumstances, you would be executed, along with any of these men who drew a weapon against Caesar. But I have use for you, Daniel of New Canaan. I find myself in need of a personal medic. In exchange for your services, you will be treated well—”

“I would be a slave,” Daniel cuts in. He’s testing his luck but what does it matter? He will die here anyway. 

The Legate laughs, a startling sound. “Of course.” 

Daniel rises to his full height. “Then,” he starts, and he puts on his most confident voice, “In exchange for my services, do not fight these men. They’re strong fighters and they trust me. Allow me to speak with them, convince them to go peacefully, and I will gladly serve you for as long as I shall live, to the utmost of my abilities.” 

For a terrifying moment, Daniel is certain he’s crossed the line and the Legate is going to order his men to slaughter everyone. 

But there is no command from the Legate. He simply turns to one of his flag bearers and mutters something in Latin. The flag bearer nods and retreats, running back to the formations of men flanking the camp. 

“You have five minutes, Daniel of New Canaan. If your tribals do not stand down, we will force them down, and you along with them.” The Legate gives a curt nod to Daniel. His expression is too stony for Daniel to gauge, but Daniel quickly turns to the Sorrows and starts explaining in their language what must happen. 

A life in the Legion would be hard, but Daniel thinks of the great stories in the Holy Bible, of heroes and liberation. He can endure, like his namesake endured, in faith that someday his chains will be broken—in this world or the next, it does not matter. God will keep him in His graces. 

* * *

The Malpais Legate lives in simplicity, unlike the other high-ranking men Daniel sees sometimes. The Legate’s personal tents in the Legion encampment are sparse, no decorations or luxuries to be found aside from a battered copy of the same LDS Quad every missionary from New Canaan received upon leaving for their mission. 

What had happened to the Malpais Legate, that he had fallen from the grace of the Lord and into the Legion? The inside cover of the holy texts is made out to a Joshua Graham, but the Legate has renamed himself as Diomedes. 

It’s a mystery that Daniel thinks upon often, while he’s put to work. He isn’t allowed to speak unless he has been addressed or if he is performing medical services, and when he does speak he cannot address anyone by name, only their formal titles. He is a  _ slave _ , after all, and so he is left with only his thoughts for company. 

* * *

The Malpais Legate takes a new wife in the spring. 

She arrives to Flagstaff in style, wrapped in a white tunic with a deep red stola over it, black hair covered with a red veil when she steps off the caravan. She’s quite beautiful—sharp cheekbones and shrewd brown eyes, complexion a deep tan. The pins holding her stola in place seem to be real silver, glittering in the harsh desert sun. But she, too, bears the ugly branded  _ X _ across the back of her hands, Caesar’s mark of ownership. 

Calliope is the Malpais Legate’s third wife—where the rest of his wives are, Daniel has no idea. They don’t travel alongside the Legate, like Daniel does, and for nearly eight months Daniel has been the only person allowed in Diomedes’ chambers, sleeping on a cot on the floor. 

The Legate’s home in Flagstaff is an actual house: a prewar relic rebuilt painstakingly by slaves, white-painted and with the Legate’s standards flying on either side of the doorway. It was the only building aside from the Priestesses’ Temple to be so well restored. Calliope stares at it with a calculating look, and finally moves past where Daniel has been kneeling with the other slaves in the front yard without a single word, slipping into the house. 

* * *

“Do you read, Petronius?” Diomedes asks, settling into a chair in the sunny backyard that one of the house slaves rushes to bring him. 

Daniel doesn’t respond right away. He prefers the quiet when he works in the patch of garden allotted to him for various medicinal plants. It’s one of the few things that feels like home, like normalcy. 

“They would have taught you to read in New Canaan, but technical ability doesn’t indicate true proficiency.” 

“I can read,” Daniel finally says. A proficient reading level was required of all New Canaanites sent out on a mission. He cuts another leaf from the aloe plant with his pocket knife and sets it in a basket. 

“Why don’t you read to us?” Calliope says smoothly, not looking up from her sewing on the shaded porch. “Wouldn’t that be nice, husband?” 

Diomedes nods. “Junia, show Petronius where my books are. Choose whatever you’d like to read aloud.” 

Daniel nods and hands his basket off to Severina, who had been working quietly at the opposite end of the garden. Junia obediently appears in the doorway to escort Daniel all the way to Diomedes’ office.

There’s dozens of books on all sorts of topics: history, military strategy, logistics, poetry, medicine. Daniel pretends to pause over a few different volumes, but he knows what he’s looking for: that familiar LDS Quad, with its battered edges and inscription to Joshua Graham.

It’s a dangerous game to play.  Junia doesn’t question the selection, though, silent as ever as they walk back to the yard. She sets a pillow on the wooden patio floor for Daniel to kneel on as he reads, but Diomedes gestures for a chair to be brought instead, facing directly opposite himself. 

No slave could sit on the same level as a free man, but Diomedes only folds his arms over his chest and stares at Daniel with an unreadable blank expression. Hesitantly Daniel takes the offered seat, searching for the section he wants in the book. 

Diomedes’ eyes flash as he sees the book that Daniel’s chosen, but he makes no comment. 

“The Book of Moses, chapter six,” Daniel reads. “Verse forty-seven.” 

“Interesting selection,” Diomedes murmurs. “Continue.”

“And as Enoch spake forth the words of God, the people trembled, and could not stand in his presence. And he said unto them: Because that Adam fell, we are; and by his fall came death; and we are made partakers of misery and woe. Behold Satan hath come among the children of men, and tempteth them to worship him; and men have become carnal, sensual, and devilish, and are shut out from the presence of God. But God hath made known unto our fathers that all men must repent. And he called upon our father Adam by his own voice, saying: I am God; I made the world, and men before they were in the flesh.” Daniel keeps his voice smooth. 

“And he also said unto him: If thou wilt turn unto me, and hearken unto my voice, and believe, and repent of all thy transgressions, and be baptized, even in water, in the name of mine Only Begotten Son, who is full of grace and truth, which is Jesus Christ, the only name which shall be given under heaven, whereby salvation shall come unto the children of men, ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, asking all things in his name, and whatsoever ye shall ask, it shall be given you.”  

“Were you the Bishop’s son?” Diomedes asks suddenly. He shifts in his seat almost restlessly. 

“My father died when I was a child. My mother raised me and my sister by herself for the most part.” Sarah Graham had been a widow, too, left with three sons and a daughter, all older than Daniel by at least five years. The same raid that had killed Daniel’s father killed Sarah Graham’s husband. Daniel remembers the funerals through the blurry lens of childhood, the dressing and the burial and solemn words from Mordecai for months after the fact.

“I could do with a drink,” Calliope says loudly. She narrows her eyes at Daniel as she rests her sewing in her lap. “Junia, some wine would be lovely. Would you like anything, husband?” 

“No. But get a glass for Petronius. I’m sure he would like one.” 

If Calliope has anything to say, she holds it in. They all know that slaves do not drink with masters, but Diomedes isn’t just another legionary subject to the Legion’s conventions. He’s the Malpais Legate. 

Junia seems flustered as she pours a second glass after Calliope’s and hands it to Daniel. His face flushes as he takes a sip, all too aware of Diomedes’ eyes on him. The wine burns as he swallows, almost sour in his mouth. He barely chokes it down without coughing. Alcohol, like coffee and soda, was forbidden for all Mormons. Diomedes would have known as much.  

Diomedes smiles in a way Daniel’s only seen on animals after a particularly satisfying kill. “Mosiah sixteen, if you would, Petronius.” 

With a fumbling hand, Daniel sets the glass down on the ground. He finds the page after a moment, counting in his head the proper page number. “And now, it came to pass that after Abinadi had spoken these words he stretched forth his hand and said: The time shall come when all shall see the salvation of the Lord; when every nation, kindred, tongue, and people shall see eye to eye and shall confess before God that his judgments are just. And then shall the wicked be cast out, and they shall have cause to howl, and weep, and wail, and gnash their teeth; and this because they would not hearken unto the voice of the Lord; therefore the Lord redeemeth them not.”  

“For they are carnal and devilish, and the devil has power over them; yea, even that old serpent that did beguile our first parents, which was the cause of their fall; which was the cause of all mankind becoming carnal, sensual, devilish, knowing evil from good, subjecting themselves to the devil,” Diomedes finishes from memory, his eyes closed. “An interesting passage, isn’t it? The casting out of the wicked.” 

“The promise of redemption.” The wine is still sour in his mouth, but Daniel takes another sip anyway. He’s in dangerous waters, isn’t he? But it’s too late to swim back now. “Abinadi isn’t trying to lecture about how wicked the world was. He’s talking about the salvation of mankind by God. The Lord’s forgiveness awaits those who follow the holy path.” 

Diomedes laughs, and for a moment Daniel can see a glint of humanity in the Malpais Legate. For some reason, it doesn’t soothe him any. “What faith you have.”

Sarah Graham had been a good woman. John Graham had been a good man. 

Daniel takes another sip of wine and looks down at the page. “Thus all mankind were alost; and behold, they would have been endlessly lost were it not that God redeemed his people from their lost and fallen state--””

“I’m going to bed,” Calliope announces, far louder than necessary. She brushes imagin-ed dirt off her stola and stands with a scathing look. “If you would like to join me, husband, I will be in my room.” 

It’s a clear sign. Daniel’s throat catches on nothing, but Diomedes doesn’t make a move to rise or follow Calliope to bed. “You were reading, Petronius,” Diomedes says instead. “Verse five.” 

Daniel’s head buzzes. “Mosiah sixteen, verse five.” Whatever game he’d wanted to play, whatever reaction he’d hoped to get from Diomedes by choosing this old book, this wasn’t it. “Thus all mankind were alost; and behold, they would have been endlessly lost were it not that God redeemed his people from their lost and fallen state...”

* * *

Daniel kneels at the Legate’s side and clinically slices through the man’s tunic with scissors. The bleeding, for the most part, has already ceased, from what he can see, but he whispers for Severina to bring him a bowl of purified water and many, many rags. 

Clean the wound, first, and then try to staunch any remaining bleeding while he assesses the best possible course of action. Daniel grabs a wet rag from Severina when she returns and starts wiping away at the gore splattering the Legate’s skin. 

Calliope is sitting beside Diomedes on the bed, her right hand intertwined with his. “Will he live?” she whispers.

There is genuine terror in her eyes when Daniel glances up from his work. Her hands are shaking. “Why does it matter?” he finally says as he returns to his work.

“If he dies,” Calliope hisses, “I am nothing again. There are no widows in the Legion, only wives and slaves, and no man wants another’s used property to warm his bed.” 

Daniel tosses his current cloth to the side, and grabs a fresh one. The water runs pink where it sluices over the Legate’s body. “And what of his other wives?” 

Calliope laughs. “Of Laurentia in the Utah? Of Placida in Phoenix? Just like me, they are nobody without Diomedes. Placida at least is pregnant--”

Daniel squeezes his rag far harder than necessary. “I have been with the Legate for eleven months, at his side the whole while, and he has never spent a night--”

Again, Calliope tosses her head back and laughs. “Of course he hasn’t. We all know you’re the only one he’s fucking.” 

At that Daniel startles, dropping his rag entirely, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you think you know, but I assure you I have never laid with Diomedes,” he snarls. “Never once.” 

(Of course, Daniel has had his share of shameful thoughts about the Malpais Legate, thoughts he kept to himself and buried deep in his mind.)

“That’s a shame. It might temper him down for a bit,” Calliope says, and Daniel does not know if she is joking or not. “But it doesn’t matter. Placida is pregnant and the Legate hasn’t renounced her yet, so that means it’s his child. And unlike you and me, that makes her valuable. She has guaranteed safety for a few months, while we’ll be sent to the first slavemaster who has room for us.” 

Daniel shakes his head clear and returns to his work. The Legate won’t die; he has sustained far more grievous injuries and been able to return to full duty within two weeks. Daniel examines the stab wound closely, gauging how deep it is, if he’ll need to suture it. 

“Does the Legate know about... these rumors?” Daniel dips a cotton swab into a bottle of alcohol, swabbing it over the area of the wound.

Calliope gathers herself, her usual stony sneer falling into place. “Do you think Caesar is unaware of his second-in-command’s tendencies? Everyone knows, but we also know that Caesar will turn a blind eye as long as his battles are being won and his Legate maintains appearances. Why do you think Caesar keeps gifting him women?” 

“Does he know?” Daniel repeats. Diomedes won’t even need stitches, it seems, just a thorough bandaging. He tosses his cotton swab aside and pulls a thick pad of gauze from his bag. 

“Of course he does,” Calliope finally spits. “Why do you think he left you here on this last mission? He has a reputation he has to consider.” She leans back against the plaster wall and lolls her head. 

Daniel pretends to struggle with the placement of the gauze for a minute. He knows how the Legion treats anyone who isn’t straight. For Caesar’s second in command to be a  _ known homosexual _ ... It would be unthinkable.  “And no one questions my role in this?”

“That would imply you’re a person, and not just his property. Your consent doesn’t matter.” 

Daniel tapes down the gauze in silence. Diomedes has never touched him. “You want him to fuck you instead?” 

“Are you stupid?” Calliope laughs. “You think I’m attracted to him?” 

Daniel pauses, hands frozen in place. 

Oh.

_ Oh _ . It had never occurred to him, because Junia is Calliope’s handmaid for the most part; they sleep in the same room and they’re rarely apart... Daniel had thought that they were simply close because Junia had been sent along with Calliope to Flagstaff. A familiar face, something like that. 

Daniel wipes his hands off with a rag and shakes his head clear. Diomedes will be fine. He’ll be up again tomorrow and returned to full duty by the middle of next week. Daniel has done his job. That’s all he can do. 

Even though it feels like he’s doing a lot more than that.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write overarching plots but like, I'll probably have more of this at some point.
> 
> [harass me on tumblr to write more](http://officialclaricestarling.tumblr.com)


End file.
